


natural disasters

by tackypanda



Series: wasted beauty [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:32:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tackypanda/pseuds/tackypanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving on would be so much simpler if the reminder of his failures wasn't forever etched into his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	natural disasters

**Author's Note:**

> this one isn't so much about body insecurity as emotional insecurity but it made me cry to write it so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Vincent wanted to blame the cracks in the bathroom mirror for the cracks in his _skin_ , but even the filthiest reflective surface couldn’t hide the undeniable fact that they were his. His neighbor used to try to make him feel better by saying that scars look just like how canyons and mountains on Earth appear from space. It didn’t work.

He ran his pinky finger down the length of the mark on the side of his face, still mottled over with sensitive flesh so pink it looked like part of his cheek had been turned inside out. He had gotten it after he came home from the war, he remembered, when he decided to fight the turmoil going on within the borders of his own country. The fact that law enforcement literally beat down peaceful protesters only proved the need for such vocal opposition to the military - at the time, at least. Had he known then that all the graffiti-ed “make love not war” pleas and all the molotov cocktails thrown at government buildings wouldn’t do anything to stop the bombs from dropping, he wouldn’t have bothered.

He scratched at the burn on his jaw just as Preston passed by the doorway, and Vincent held his breath, hoping he hadn’t been noticed. He did, of course; unfailingly observant of the people he cared about. “Everything okay?” He backtracked to lean in the doorway, his hat and duster shed.

“Fine.” The continuous scratching did nothing to inspire confidence.

“I should have something for that in my pack, lemme get it.”

Vincent chuckled bitterly, stopping Preston in his tracks. “Don’t bother; not like it’s gonna make it go away.”

Preston sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I help at all, babe?”

Vincent turned to him then, guilt settling in his stomach; of all people to try to push away. “How’d you get that, anyway?” He motioned to mark on Preston’s cheek, nearly identical to his. “Quincy?”

Preston shook his head, smiling slightly. “Nah, way before. Back when I was fresh; got caught in a little explosion when I was helping clear out a raider encampment. Didn’t suffer the brunt of the blow, just an errant piece of glass flew by and cut me.”

The guilt dissipated, replaced by a hot coil of jealousy worming its way into his throat. “Huh.” Preston already knew the source of his scars, he didn’t need to rehash the _thrilling_  details, but hell if he didn’t feel like yelling them out right now. “You were lucky.”

“Yeah, I’ll say.” He reached for Vincent’s hand, frowning a bit at his loose grip. “So were you.”

 _Lucky_. The polar opposite of what he would describe himself as. He wanted to agree - smile, kiss his cheek, get the hell out of the bathroom and back to building another power generator, or growing tatos, or _something_. But the itch was just too prominent not to scratch at until it bled.

“What I am is tired, Preston.” He turned back to the mirror then, scowling. “I look fucking terrible. Haven’t cut my damn hair since I got out of that icebox, haven’t been eating enough or sleeping enough, and _this_ \--” He motioned to his scars, “is just the shitty fucking reminder that the last time I broke my back fighting for change it was all for _shit_.” He ran a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes. “Wouldn’t call almost getting my face broken by some police officer’s baton ‘lucky’ any day.”

Preston’s arms wound around his waist from behind, his face suddenly buried in the crook of his neck. There was the guilt again, right on time. “Sorry.”

Preston shook his head. “I know you’ve been struggling but-- shit, I should’ve known it was _this_  bad.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. Always been pretty good at internalizing my misery; old family secret.” He managed a chuckle at that. “Besides, you have enough on your plate.”

“ _You’ve_  always been there for me; if I don’t do the same for you, what good am I?”

“The best.” Vincent turned in his arms so he could pull him in for a kiss, hungry and searching. “You take care of everyone else in the Commonwealth’s problems; don’t worry about me.”

Preston pulled away so he could grab Vincent’s hands, a bit more forcefully than he was known to do. “Your problems are _always_  my priority. Promise me you’ll come to me when you start feeling like this, please? I don’t want anyone to have to go what I went through, feeling lost and alone - especially you.”

Vincent let his forehead fall against his, surrendering. “It’s not like you have to see a constant reminder of your failures right on your face.”

“Maybe not.” Preston reached up to gently stroke his scars, sighing. “But the memories are bad enough.”

They stood like that for a few moments more until the tension and emotional exhaustion between them got to be too much. Vincent smirk, placing his hand on top of Preston’s still on his face. “I’m starting to think you _like_  these. What, do they make me rugged.” He reveled in the blush that colored Preston’s cheeks. “For the record, I like yours.” The blush grew even deeper. 

“You sure know how to change the subject, huh?” Free of the suffocating atmosphere, Preston tugged him outside, a place free of mirrors and people who thought of Vincent as anything but a hard-working guy who just wanted to help.


End file.
